Sooner or Later
by AdelineDalloway
Summary: Hunted by the Family of Blood, the Doctor must strand himself in 1913 without the benefit of a companion. He becomes attached to Donna Noble, a fiery woman who makes him laugh and listens eagerly to his nonsense. As his dreams begin to hint at the existence of another man, he'll be forced to confront who he is and who he must become to save the woman he loves. Semi-AU 10/Donna
1. Prologue - The Doctor and Mr Smith

{Author's Note: Well, welcome to it. This story was inspired by "Goodbye Mr. Smith" by Basmathgirl. It explored a reality in which Donna met the Doctor while he was human, hiding from the Family of Blood. I truly enjoyed the story – please seek it out so you can enjoy it too. That being said, hers was funnier and far more light-hearted than my take on the topic will be. There will be a bit more angst/drama in this story than there was in hers, just because that's what I seem to be most proficient at writing. Still, I hope you find it pleasing and/or entertaining enough to tell me so in the reviews. Any and all interest in this tale is greatly appreciated.}

Sooner or Later

Prologue:

"_The Doctor and Mr. Smith"_

"Oh. Oh, that's not good."

The ground lurched beneath his feet.

"They're catching up!" he yelled to no one. Instead of an answer or panicked shout he heard his own voice reverberating off the walls and back to him. Had he not been in something of a rush it would have bothered him much more than it did. "Hadn't planned on them being able to track me _that _easily! That was an unpleasant surprise. Well, at least now it's time for plan B!"

He could almost hear Martha's voice say, "What's plan B?!" Alas, Martha was gone. She'd ditched him, not that he blamed her for it.

That made his situation even more difficult to maneuver. Really, plan B had been his only plan. Going through with this could strand him forever without the benefit of a friend nearby, but carrying on running could lead to a particularly cruel group of hunters being able to go on hunting forever. He could pretend all he liked that the decision was a struggle, but he knew exactly what he was willing to do. This left him only one option to shake the dreaded Family of Blood off his trail – the Chameleon Arch, gods help him.

The Doctor hit one last button, pulled three levers in quick succession, and banged the mallet twice. The TARDIS gave a stressed rumble and the Doctor yanked down tortuous-looking helmet, one that he knew would attach painfully to the pressure points around his head and recode his genetic signature to hide him until the Family reached their expiration date. A little pain now, he told himself, for a lot of good later. The Family could only live three months without hosts and he wouldn't let them have him. He would let them live out their lives and then, when he could be sure they were gone for good…

Well, he'd figure that out later.

He grasped the Chameleon Arch's cool alloy handles and ignored the slight shock that passed through his calloused fingertips in warning of the joyride that was to come. Feeling the TARDIS shake angrily and hurry him alone, the Doctor took a few deep breaths and turned one final dial before placing the Arch on top of his head. For a moment after donning the Arch there was nothing – calm, serene nothing. He was just a Time Lord in a funny hat. Then – then the pain hit and he screamed, nearly collapsing in on himself to try and escape it. He could feel bits of himself being ripped out and pulled away, removing everything from him that ever made him a Time Lord.

After that, he recalled nothing else.

* * *

The man awoke with a start as his carriage jolted upon the rocks that littered the path. He heard his coachman curse and heard him pull tight the reins that led the horse further down the road. For a moment the man panicked, being unable to immediately remember where he was or what he was doing. Just short of experiencing a crisis, however, the giant looming figure of a manor arose in the distance. He could see the solid brick and the lush green fields surrounding it, immediately feeling himself to be a part of it. It was then that he came back to his senses, laughing that he should ever have felt anxiety.

_Ah, yes, _he thought happily. _New position. Something tells me I should enjoy these classrooms very much. From the size of it, the library should do me nicely._

As his buggy approached the edifice he gathered his briefcase up, shoving all his notes and journals into the worn leather satchel. An old fob watch insisted on falling out the side and he shoved it back in, cursing its inability to do what it was told. Almost as soon as his meager belongings had been collected his carriage had pulled to the very front of the Farringham School for Boys, where he had so generously been offered a position. Quite pleased with the outward beauty of the area and his apparent streak of good luck, the man offered his chauffer payment and stepped joyfully out of the carriage and onto the rough, rocky pavement. The large wooden doors stood before him, beckoning him to step through and begin his new life as a teacher. In the end, he was certainly unable to deny himself the excitement for any longer.

Clutching his case to his side and donning his most elated smile, he walked up to the doors and pushed his way through them. The sight that immediately greeted him was astounding – polished dark wood and cream walls, a desk as old as his grandfather sitting stoutly in front of him. A pretty ginger woman looked up from her paperwork and shoved a falling curl behind her ear.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I believe I'm your new instructor," he said delightedly, coming to stand in front of her. She looked at him only a moment before reaching for a stack of papers a few inches away.

"Name."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your name?" she said tersely. "You have got one, haven't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, I'm sorry," he stammered, suddenly on edge. She fixed him with a withering glare while he collected himself.

"My name is John. John Smith."

* * *

{AN: More? Stop while I'm behind? Tell me in the reviews.}


	2. History Lessons, Sunshine

**One:**

"History Lessons, Sunshine"

"_Blimey, did you have to pass a test to fly this thing?" a feminine voice rang out, echoing in his head. He could hear rumbling in the distance and some unknowable tone changed in her voice, signaling repressed anxiety even as excitement threatened to spring to the foreground._

"_Yes, and I failed," a man answered, the timbre and tone of his voice achingly familiar. The words were left hanging unanswered in the air, even as the speaker rambled on and left them behind. Four words – so, so deeply familiar. _

_They had been spoken before, he was sure of it._

* * *

John Smith – now Master Smith, as of that day exactly – awoke with a slight grin tilting the corners of his mouth. His dream had left him mildly amused, even if he couldn't quite place the events that had occurred before he'd opened his eyes. He felt a desire to laugh rising up but he knew he had other things to worry about, matters that were far more pressing than a silly dream. He looked at the clock and quickly decided that introspection would have to wait, as was usually the case with him recently. _Late again_, he sighed and shook his head fretfully. It really was beginning to be a problem. First it was the dinner with the headmaster, then lunch with his fellow instructors. Now this – potentially late to his first day of classes. It was time to get his act together before he received a formal scolding.

Sometimes he just didn't know where his head went.

* * *

John paced uneasily just outside the grand lecture room he was to be addressing in a matter of ten minutes. The bravado he'd talked himself into that morning was suddenly absent, leaving him a nervous wreck. He knew the lesson, knew it like the back of his hand, but faced with the idea of fifty or so grade school boys and he was anxious as though he'd just read the material the night before. What if one of them asked a question he couldn't answer? What if he stammered? This was his first teaching position, and his headmaster could very easily throw him out on his ear the first day of classes. How's _that_ for failure!

The clock struck nine. He was done for.

"Breathe," a voice behind him said. "You'll be alright, I swear."

John turned around, faced suddenly with the receptionist who'd checked him in three days earlier. He hadn't seen her since she'd shown him to his room and taken off, muttering about catching a friend before she made off with a pair of her favorite shoes. She watched him now with more than a little bit of amusement, leaning against a wall a few feet away. He stood up straighter and pulled his robes tighter, smoothing out any imaginary wrinkles that may have cropped up while he wasn't looking. Her deep blue-green eyes watched him carefully and he raised his chin in defiance of her uncanny assumption of his mental state.

"I don't know what you mean, ma'am."

"Of course you don't," she said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders. "Just go on in there and jump in. It'll suit you. I've got a feeling for these things."

"And if it doesn't?" he asked, not bothering to deny his anxiety a second time.

"Then I'll buy you lunch. But," she interjected, "When you come out of that hall in two hours and find yourself completely hooked, you'll owe me."

He gave her a slight nod, the tiniest acknowledgement of their wager, and marched ahead into his classroom. His pupils were running amok, exchanging punches and throwing paper. John sighed, remembering how he'd been at their age. It was almost an exact recreation of his school years, or at least what he remembered of them. The students remained oblivious until he cleared his throat and they realized their new instructor was standing before them looking not at all amused. Gradually, almost as though they were hoping he wouldn't be able to see them if they moved slow enough, they made their way back to their seats. He waited for them to situate themselves, standing patiently as they put away their crumbled bits of paper and took out notebooks in their place.

"Well, then," he said loudly, his voice reverberating off the now-silent lecture hall. The students watched him warily, assumedly waiting to see if they would be punished for their antics. "Now that we've all settled down we can begin. My name is Master Smith, and I'll be your history teacher for the remainder of the term."

"Hello, Master Smith," they all recited obediently.

"Hello," he said, oddly put-off by the monotone chant. Pushing it to the back of his mind, he reached for the piece of paper on his podium at the front of the room and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Stand up as I call your name. Wallace, Harold."

"Present, sir."

"Cooper, Paul."

"Present, sir."

"Latimer, Timothy."

"Present, sir."

And the list carried on, until he'd read off all thirty-nine of the names on his paper. His pupils each sat calmly in their seats, waiting for his instruction to begin. Finally, with nothing else to stand between him and the inevitable, he opened his notes and got on with it.

"Right. We'll continue with your previous instructor's lesson on Western Asia and Egypt. Who can tell me the name of the strip of land called 'the cradle of civilization'?"

A hand quickly shot up in the second row of chairs, followed by a confident answer of, "Mesopotamia, the modern-day Middle East."

"Exactly!" he cried, and turned to write the word across his chalkboard in his jumbled, hardly legible script.

Without thinking, he launched into the script he had so painstakingly pounded into his head the last few nights. This time, though, he added his own insights and dispensed with the straight facts he was taught to favor when instructing students. It was like writing a paper, he thought delightedly as words just kept leaving his mouth at an ever-increasing rate. He told stories, wove tales, because that was how he'd always seen history in his head – like he was there, watching it all for himself. He wanted to be able to do the same for his students, and he did. One by one, they sat up straight and leaned forward, sliding to the edge of their chairs and fixing him with wide eyes.

When the clock chimed for eleven, John was stunned. He'd barely started Egypt! How could the time have passed so quickly? His students seemed to be similarly taken aback, staring intently at the clock just like he had. Eventually, though, a boy in the back groaned the rest of the class followed suit. John had to fight from smiling – were they showing reluctance to leave _his _class? Sadness to end _his _lesson? Part of him, a part perilously near his heart, swelled with pride and validation. Coming here had been no mistake! He was meant to be doing this, just as he'd suspected all along. His good mood built in intensity and a broad grin broke across his face, lighting his eyes up.

"I suppose that's all for today," he said amidst the chorus of displeased replies. "We'll pick up where we left off Wednesday morning. Please complete your reading on Egypt by the time you return and we'll discuss it then. You're dismissed!"

With that chairs scraped across floors and conversation resumed, the children immediately referring to the lesson he'd just finished. He heard murmurs of Babylon and Alexander the Great before they retreated from the room, presumably off to their next lesson.

One called to him as he left the classroom, "Goodbye, Master Smith. Have a nice afternoon."

"Yes," he said without looking up from his podium, "You do the same."

The child continued on his way out the door and called back, "Good afternoon, Ms. Noble," and the comment forced his head up from his work.

"Good afternoon, Paul," the reply came and he sought out his guest.

He finally noticed an extra student with fiery red hair and a distinctly adult body sitting in a chair by the door, facing him with the same amused stare she'd given him a few hours earlier although now her mouth had slight curve of a smile to it. He didn't know how long she'd been there, he never noticed her come in, but it was plain that she'd heard at least the last bit of his lecture. Her knowing eyes were fixed directly on him and words were suddenly unnecessary – he knew _exactly_ what she was thinking. She very obviously knew she was right, and he was still so excited that he didn't mind having to admit it.

Waiting for the last of his students to leave, he puffed up his chest and smiled openly.

"So?" he asked proudly. "What do you think?"

"I think you owe me lunch, Sunshine."

"What? What are you – oh! I remember," he said and gathered his scattered papers from the podium in front of him. "Yes, let's go. A wager is a wager, after all."

She stood, and he held the door open for her as they exited the classroom. He watched her plain blue skirt twirl around her ankles and pushed his glasses up his nose, turning to close the classroom door behind him. He locked the heavy wooden door and turned back to her with a large grin on his face.

"Mrs. Noble, was it?"

"Miss," she corrected and he noted the distinction. "But everyone around here calls me Donna. You can too, if you want."

"Suits you," he said cheerfully. "Well, then, clever Donna Noble – where is it you want to go?" She raised her eyebrow and he reined in his enthusiasm. Propriety had never been his forte. "That is, where would you like to go for lunch? I'm not familiar enough with the area to suggest a place unless the kitchens here have a better reputation than the children give them credit for."

She smiled wryly. "I don't know, I rather like 'clever Donna'. I'll have to get it engraved on my desk. Come on, then. I know a place."

He followed as she charged ahead, down the hall and toward the great front doors he had so anxiously stared at a few days earlier. "Where is it? Is it terribly expensive?"

She scoffed. Unladylike, he noted, but he grinned as he thought it. The gesture seemed to mirror her personality perfectly and he was starting to think he liked her personality very much.

"Course it's expensive. One never wastes a free lunch," she said and then tossed a wink over her shoulder. "Especially not with a new instructor who's easier on the eyes than the rest of the faculty. Keep up!"

He galloped after her, trying to keep his glasses on his face and his notes in his arms as he walked. The smile that had been on his face nearly all morning grew just a bit wider as he trailed along.

Oh, yes. He liked Donna Noble very much.

* * *

**_Next Up: Getting to know Ms. Noble is more fun than John had originally suspected it might be... _**


End file.
